Vinson disliked the emptiness of the office.
Fortunately, he had brought the door to the Plantation with him.
He casually tossed the suitcase he had brought onto the floor. It landed with a dull but steady thud. A few seconds later, the lid of the suitcase automatically sprang open, and the outer shell rapidly expanded and stretched, finally transforming into the familiar door.
The Devil's Snare vines slowly slid out from beneath Vinson's robe. The portions that had been burned a few hours earlier had already fully recovered, and the newly grown vines looked even stronger than the original ones.
Vinson casually lifted one of the vines and gently stroked it.
"Hmm, it's recovering well."
Although the Devil's Snare could quickly repair itself after being injured, this process came at a cost—consuming a large amount of Vinson's magic.
Fortunately, Vinson possessed ample magical reserves, which allowed the Devil's Snare to recover at such a rapid pace.
After confirming this, more than a dozen vines slowly extended into the door.
Vinson stood quietly to the side with his arms crossed, watching the vines busily moving back and forth.
A large pile of furniture and supplies was carried out by the Devil's Snare: a dark wooden desk, a high-backed chair upholstered in dragon hide, and two brand-new ebony bookshelves.
A moment later, Vinson looked around at the newly furnished office and nodded with satisfaction.
Indeed, bringing the Devil's Snare had been the right decision. This kind of heavy labor should be left to it.
…
Before leaving Hogwarts, Vinson went to Professor Kettleburn's office once again.
At this time, the professor was likely still somewhere within the Hogwarts grounds.
However, when Vinson arrived, he found only a note resting on the desk.
By the time you read this letter, I will already have set off for the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Do you remember the female dragon I fostered there? She has finally laid an egg, and I must hurry there as soon as possible to check on the situation.
"So that's how it is," Vinson murmured, nodding slightly.
This was very much Professor Kettleburn's style. He had always treasured his dragons, and it was no surprise that he would make the trip personally for a dragon egg.
Still, this news caught Vinson off guard. A dragon laying an egg was not a common occurrence.
Moreover, he knew that dragon well. They had hatched it together from an egg many years ago.
He hadn't expected that it had already reached the age to lay eggs.
Time really does fly, Vinson thought, feeling a faint trace of nostalgia.
After folding the letter and placing it into his pocket, Vinson followed Professor McGonagall's instructions and borrowed the fireplace in the Headmaster's office.
However, his destination was not his shop—but the Leaky Cauldron.
…
By the time Vinson appeared inside the Leaky Cauldron, evening was already approaching.
The pub was as noisy as ever. Wizards sat in small groups around wooden tables, chatting and laughing loudly.
Vinson glanced around briefly but did not stop. He walked straight to the bar.
Tom, the innkeeper, was hunched over the counter, carefully polishing a silver goblet. When he noticed Vinson approaching, he paused slightly.
"Welcome. What can I get for you?" Tom asked.
Vinson stopped in front of the bar and let his gaze rest on the goblet in Tom's hand.
"I need to find a worker to help me take care of the medicinal herbs in the Plantation," he said quietly.
Tom's hand slowed slightly. He raised his head and studied Vinson.
"Looking for a worker?"
"Yes," Vinson replied, nodding briefly. "Preferably someone with some experience. Someone who isn't afraid of hard work and can live in the Plantation for a long time."
That was the real reason Vinson had come to the Leaky Cauldron that day.
Since he was about to become a professor at Hogwarts, he was worried he would not have enough time or energy to personally care for all the plants. Although the Devil's Snare could help tend to itself and nearby plants, there was still a serious lack of manpower.
Tom thoughtfully tapped the wooden bar. After a moment, he bent down and pulled out a thick ledger from beneath the counter, flipping through several pages as he spoke.
"A few fellows came looking for work some time ago… but not many people are willing to stay at a Plantation long-term. Actually, I should say—none at all."
Vinson was not surprised by this answer. This was a sudden decision on his part, and he hadn't expected to find the perfect candidate immediately.
"Then help me post a notice," Vinson said, though a faint disappointment crept into his voice.
Tom closed the ledger and slid it back under the counter. He looked up and gave a small nod.
"Alright. I'll help you post a notice in the pub, and I'll also keep an eye out for anyone suitable." He casually patted the counter with the cloth he'd been using and lowered his voice. "Still, not many people are willing to work at a Plantation, especially for long periods."
"I know," Vinson replied calmly. "That's why I'm willing to offer generous compensation."
"Generous compensation?" Tom repeated, raising an eyebrow before smiling faintly. "That should attract quite a few people."
He wiped down the bar again and added casually, "The fee for posting a notice is twenty Galleons."
"Twenty Galleons?" Vinson echoed, giving Tom a thoughtful look.
The price was slightly higher than he had expected. However, considering that the Leaky Cauldron was a major hub for the wizarding world in London—where information spread quickly and many wizards and Muggle-born witches and wizards looked for work—it was still reasonable.
Just as Vinson was about to take out his money—
"Wait."
A low voice interrupted him from the side.
Vinson turned his head and saw a man in a worn brown robe sitting at a nearby table. A half-finished glass of Firewhisky sat in front of him.
The man looked to be in his forties. There was a noticeable patch sewn onto his robe, and it was clear from his clothing and posture that his financial situation was not good.
Vinson's gaze lingered on him briefly. The man's face carried a faint weariness, his palms were rough with calluses, and there was still a trace of soil beneath his fingernails.
"Excuse me, sir," the man said, pulling back part of the hood of his robe and revealing more of his face. "I'm sorry for overhearing your conversation, but… are you looking for someone to take care of medicinal herbs in a Plantation?"
Vinson studied him quietly before replying.
"Yes. I need someone who can stay in the Plantation for a long time and care for medicinal herbs."
When he heard this, the man nodded slightly.
"May I try?" he asked.
There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, as if he wasn't entirely confident in his abilities.
Vinson examined him again, thoughtful. After a brief moment of silence, he asked:
"Do you have experience?"
"A little," the man answered quietly, nodding. "I worked for a potion ingredient supplier for several months. I was responsible for planting and harvesting some common medicinal herbs."
Even though he had no idea who the person standing in front of him really was, for Vinson—who urgently needed help—someone willing to offer their services was already a good sign.
"Very good," Vinson said, nodding immediately. "You can come and try. We can discuss the specific working hours and wages later."
At those words, a trace of relief flickered through the man's eyes.
Tom, who had been quietly watching the interaction, smiled faintly. He set down the cleaned goblet and said casually:
"Looks like you won't need me to post that notice after all."
Vinson responded with a soft hum of agreement and casually slipped the Galleons he had been about to pay back into his pocket.
"That's fine."
Tom shrugged, clearly unconcerned, and moved away to serve other customers.
Vinson turned back to the man.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The man straightened slightly.
"Remus Lupin."